


A Time and A Place

by starrysummernights



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, Infidelity, M/M, The closest I'll get to unhappy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2018-10-16 15:28:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10574163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrysummernights/pseuds/starrysummernights
Summary: Sherlock hadn't thought his and John's first time would take place in an abandoned building.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting in my drafts for two years. Here. Take it away from me.

Sherlock hadn’t thought his and John’s first time would take place in an abandoned building, the accumulated grit and black filth of many years without cleaning scraping beneath their shoes.

Not that he’d precisely given much thought to his and John’s first time. He’d wondered about it, vaguely, considering it as one might an abstract philosophy theory with no definite answer. Calculating the logistics of it. How John might look at certain angles depending on where Sherlock himself were located. What John’s body looked like fully nude. The sounds he would make. The sounds Sherlock would make. Who would do what to whom and where and when and why.

Sherlock had thought about it. Briefly.

But in his imaginings, he’d never thought it would take place _here_. It didn’t seem the type of place John would want to initiate such an intimate, somewhat emotionally charged act in. The building was dark and decrepit. Half the roof had blown off years back, leaving the vast, cavernous room partially open to the elements. There were rats scratching in the corners. It smelled. John seemed the type to prefer doing things “properly”- a bit of romance, a bed, foreplay, etc. The traditional, normal things once expects when taking things, as they are, “to the next level.”

So Sherlock was completely caught off-guard when John closed the distance between them- marginal, really, crammed together such as they were to peer out the broken window- and slammed his lips against Sherlock’s, totally without finesse which was another thing Sherlock wouldn’t have expected from John.

Sherlock stumbled back, not having braced for the assault, hitting the metal hull of the building with a dull bang- and just like that John’s lips were gone and he was a foot away from Sherlock, eyes wide in the dark, his breathing interspersed with apologies.

“I’m sorry- shit, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking- Christ, if I was even thinking. That wasn’t….I didn’t mean…Oh fuck, Sherlock, I’m not-“

Sherlock stepped forward and pressed his lips against John’s, silencing his untrue apologies and willing John to kiss him back. To forget about everything else. To be with him, right now, in this moment. Kiss me back, kiss me back, _kiss me_ -

The knot loosened in Sherlock’s chest when John’s lips moved against his own, caressing, teasing, before John pressed forward and this time Sherlock was ready. He let himself be pressed back against the building, not minding the cobwebs that clung to his hair and coat in the process, and John’s hands came up to frame his face, running over his cheeks as if John were trying to map it out beneath his fingertips. The first touch of John’s tongue against his own was an electric zing in his abdomen, his hands tightening reflexively where they were buried in John’s jacket.

“Oh, Christ. You want this? You…” His voice broke and the sound of it sent a chill down Sherlock’s spine. “You really want this? Sherlock?”

Of course he did. How could John think any different?

They were desperate. Uncoordinated. Frotting against each other awkwardly in the darkness of the building, like criminals hiding from a higher power. Sherlock pressed against the wall, John pressed against Sherlock, heavy panting, breaths mingling as they smearing their lips together in a sham of a passionate kiss.

Sherlock was already calculating the logistics of what they could do, of what was possible. There was zero chance of him sinking to his knees on the disgusting floor of the building, even less so of John doing that, though for entirely different reasons, Sherlock felt. He could tell John had never done this before. He’d never been with another man. This was a spur-of-the-moment decision. Unlikely either of them had condoms or lubrication secreted about their person. Mutual handjobs seemed underwhelming.

Sherlock decided to take the situation into his own hands. As it were.

John made a sound like a pained animal when Sherlock wrapped a hand around both their erections and stroked.

It was difficult. There wasn’t much room and barely any lubrication, but they were already both so worked up, so ready, it was enough.

Sherlock felt John stiffen against him, choking on his moan, before warmth covered his hand, running over Sherlock’s fingers where they were still wrapped around his and John’s erections. He loosened his grip, knowing John would be oversensitive if he kept going and, using John’s own come as a lubricant, began harshly wanking himself. John, breathing slowly evening out, rested his head against Sherlock’s sternum to watch. Sherlock would have appreciated it better if he’d helped but he was already…so close….just a bit…more…

Sherlock jerked soundlessly through his orgasm, aware of where John rested against him, his body warm and close and amazing because he’d never thought he would have this. That he would have John this close. That they would live this experience and while it may not have been perfect, it was the closest to heaven Sherlock could fathom.

Their combined ejaculate was still cooling on Sherlock’s hand and the front of John’s jumper when John pulled away, leaving Sherlock cold and sticky.

“Oh fuck.” John’s voice shook, horrified. “What did I just do?”

“John-“ Sherlock reached for him, which was probably the wrong thing to do. His hand was still covered in ejaculate. John recoiled.

“What did I do? What did I fucking do?” He turned wild eyes to Sherlock, as if this were all his fault. As if Sherlock had been the one to reach for John and not the other way around. “What was I fucking thinking?”

Sherlock didn’t know how to respond. He didn’t know what John had been thinking either. He watched John move away from him, John’s fists clenched and his stance wide and aggravated.

Sherlock wouldn’t have thought his and John’s first time would be while John was still married.


End file.
